Thursday, May 25, 2017

That Time I Realized I’m Not Classy Enough for my Neighborhood

I’ve known for a while now that I’m not a classy lady. I
choose burgers over fine dining, I’ll always pick the cheap moscato over your
fancy cabernet that came from your wine cellar, and it’s been pointed out on
more than one occasion that I swear like a trucker.

Despite this, I thought I could hide my unclassiness and fit
into my super cute, clean-cut neighborhood. Now, for the past two years it’s
been quite a lot of work to disguise myself as a woman suited for my
neighborhood, but I was passing – even if it was just barely.

When I bought my house, my backyard was a damn fairy garden.
Juliette, the elderly woman I bought my house from, probably had her own HGTV
show based on the looks of my yard.

Look at this!

I mean, there was literally a bedframe in my
backyard filled with flowers and a sign that said “Flower Bed” on it. How
fucking adorable is that?

SHE MADE A REAL LIFE FLOWER BED.A LITERAL FUCKING FLOWER BED!

Well, in a year I successfully killed the garden. By the
next summer, I turned it into a jungle with all the weeds taking over. But, in
an attempt to pass as a classy lady, I hired a sketchy guy and some high school
kids to rip the weeds out, so by the end of last summer my yard just looked
like patches of grass and dirt and a few dead plants. Sadly, this was an
improvement.

Determined to fit in my cutesy neighborhood where couples
work on their yards together and wave at each other as we pull in our
driveways, this spring I hired a sketchy ass guy off craigslist to turn my
patchy yard into a plethora of grass. Nothing fancy. No plants. Just flatten
the dirt and make some grass grow. Try not to be shocked when I tell you this:
the guy was a total scam artist, made my yard look even worse, and managed to
piss of my neighbors.

On top of all of this, I keep my Christmas lights up until
April, I have dinosaurs and a nativity scene in my front yard for Christmas, my
cats occasionally escape and cause a neighborhood wide hunt before I find them
all safe in my basement ceiling (not a joke, has actually happened twice), and
I’m positive my kind neighbors (who bring me cookies, btw) have heard me yell
profanities at my cats, tv, appliances, and other inanimate objects more than
once.

First, this looks awesome.Second, those lights were seriously up until mid april.

Still, despite all of this, I believed I could keep up my
classy lady façade and recover from all these mishaps so I wouldn’t be known as
“the girl who brings down the neighborhood.”

But in this past week I hit such an all-time low that there
is no recovering.

First, when I came back from a week in D.C. I saw that my
lawn had been mowed. I called my brother-in-law to thank him for taking care of
my yard but he informed me that my neighbor cut my yard.

Yes, that’s right – I’m such a scummy homeowner that my
neighbor felt compelled to cut my yard because it got so bad. I was mortified.

But wait - there’s more.

After apologizing profusely to my neighbor about my yard, sending
my thanks to her husband for cutting it, and promising to be a better neighbor,I accidentally solidified myself as the worst person in the neighborhood.

How, you ask? Oh, take a seat and read along my dear friend.

On Sunday I was excited for the warm weather, so like many
women in Rochester, I decided to shave my beastly winter legs in order to show
off some skin in a few dresses this week. However, I hate shaving because I
always miss a spot, so I decided to buy some Veet and spend a few minutes
letting who knows how many chemicals burn the hair right out of my skin.

This is not my leg, but imagine this - except 3 times as thick - from ankle to pelvis.

So here I am, sitting naked in my bathroom, rubbing poison
all over my legs and singing along to Prince when suddenly my cat, Rose,
decides she needs some attention and RUBS HER BODY AGAINST MY POISONOUS LEGS.

I quickly scream “NOOOOOOOOOO!” and my beautiful gray cat –
who is now covered in hair remover – runs away in fear.

Not my best move. Clearly I didn’t think this through.

Visions of my cat losing large chunks of fur are running
through my head as I try to figure out how to move with Veet covered legs
without touching anything else with my toxic legs. Time is of the essence, so
obviously there’s no time to wash off the creamy white toxins.

Then it occurs to me that Rose might try to lick the hair
remover off of her, get poisoned, and then die.

My beautiful Rose.

Now I’m in full cat mom mode, and decide the only thing I
can do is attempt to chase my cat, tackle her, and wash the veet off of her.
However, remember that not only am I naked, I also can’t run. I can’t even
walk. If I said I could hobble, I’m being generous to myself. So the chase was
not off to a good start.

After a minute of flailing my body around my house as I stretched
my arms and pleaded with my cat to come to me, I decide to throw myself in my
power wheelchair and give chase by chair. My other cat, Sophia, thinks we’re
having a fun race, and I freak the fuck out thinking she might touch my deadly
legs too. I yell at her to get away as I continue to chase Rose through my
bedroom, then down the hall, then through my living room, and then, finally my
kitchen.

When I got Rose cornered, I leapt out of my wheelchair to
tackle her. Let’s all remember now that I’m still naked. Now might also be a
good time to tell you I’ve never declawed my cats. You can imagine the screams
from both of us.

Even though my cat was clearly trying to kill me and my
kitchen looked like a murder scene, I held tight and reached for a kitchen
towel to at least wipe her fur. I did the best I could before she escaped my
bloody grasp.

This is a pretty accurate representation of what my kitchen looked like.

At this point, I crawl back to my wheelchair, panting, and
attempting to wipe up the trail of Veet behind me so no other cats become
hairless or die because of my desire to wear a dress.

When I finally get up
into my chair, I look up and realize my curtains are open and have been open this entire time.

Whhhhhhhy?

Because I didn’t actually intend to chase my cat around naked with veet covered
legs when I started this adventure.

But my intentions don’t matter.

The big guy with the poodle from a few houses down was right
there on the sidewalk in front of my house. And if I saw him, there’s a solid
chance he saw me.

Now mind you, this naked lethal cat chasing fiasco lasted a
few minutes throughout every room – and every open window- in my house, so I
don’t know how many of my other neighbors saw the show and hung their heads in
shame.

The only thing I do know is that I am now, without question,
the girl who brings down the neighborhood.

I’d like to take a moment to apologize to all of Wembly
Road. I’m sorry that my existence brings down the value of your home and the reputation
of our community.